


Amanita Citrina

by Fox_the_Reaper



Category: Bleach, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Crack, Crossover, Gen, Humor, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_the_Reaper/pseuds/Fox_the_Reaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When You-Know-Who tries to summon Death, he doesn't get quite what he expected...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amanita Citrina

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Whispering Darkness’ hilarious Harry Potter/Avengers one-shot, All Hallows’ Eve – New York, posted on Fanfiction. Er, as for this bit of crack? I have no excuse.  
> Amanita Citrina: the False Death Cap… or ‘shroom, as I like to call it.
> 
> IMPORTANT UPDATE: Ebooks-tree.com has some of my fanfiction, including this fic. I DID NOT give anyone permission to offer those works for download or to be available on their website. It is FANFICTION, therefore NOT for profit. They should ONLY be on AO3 or Fanfiction.net. Other AO3 users, please be aware of this issue, as mine is not the only work that has been stolen.

# Amanita Citrina

## AKA Flight from Death Faces His Fears

## AKA Ichigo’s New Fullbring

Ichigo stared blankly at the red eyes of the odd, flat-nosed man in front of him as he spoke to a ring of what appeared to be either cultists in dire need of a new uniform or really tall trick-or-treaters. Oh and that kid tied to a headstone. Couldn’t forget about him.

Flat-Face was still talking to his Inner Circle. Ichigo knew just enough English to follow along, but frankly, he really wished he didn’t.

“…have been reborn!” Resurrection in a graveyard? Really? He kind of thought Buffy had killed that cliché.

Honestly, the last time he’d heard a monologue this bad he’d been fighting Aizen. At least then he’d gotten to hit the deranged god-wannabe. As it was, well, if Ishida ever heard about him fighting in his current getup, he’d never hear the end of it.

He shifted uncomfortably, his scratchy cloak sliding down over his face just enough to be annoying. Honestly, he blamed Yuzu for this. Not the whole being surrounded by crazy cultists thing, but the fact that he was surrounded by crazy cultists in what had to be the most ridiculous thing he’d ever worn in his life.

It had all started normally enough. Karakura Middle School had organized a culture day for the students, and this time they were looking at western cultures. Nothing strange there. Of course, culture day had somehow turned into a Halloween fair. And Yuzu had inevitably roped her big brother into attending. Rather, she had gently bullied him into getting out the house for more than picking fights.

Ichigo was sorely regretting giving in to her puppy-dog eyes. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have had to buy a costume. If he hadn’t had to buy a costume, he wouldn’t have given in to really bad visual puns.

Karin had taken one look at his black cloak and plastic scythe and promptly choked on her soda, looking torn between either laughing or smacking him over the head.

“…am now Master of Death. My loyal Death Eaters…”

Hold up. What now?

“Hey, wait a minute,” he interrupted. “Did you just say you were going to _eat_ me? Because if you did, we are about to have a serious problem here.” He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “Actually, we already have a problem. I was kind of busy, you know, scaring a bunch of middle-schoolers with sweet… teeth larger than my forearm. As bad as that was, I’d really rather be _there_ than _here_ , because the only other person I know that talks as much as you was gagged for 20,000 years for a reason.”

Good lord, had that actually come out of his mouth? That sounded more like something _Geta-Boshi_ would say than him (well, minus the pervy-laughter-with-fan-flutter thing). In any case, Ichigo just didn’t ramble like that. Then again, hadn’t Urahara sold… _donated_ some sweets to the school?

Ichigo paused, pulling a candy-wrapper from his pocket and looking at it suspiciously. He really wouldn’t put it past the blonde…

Red eyes narrowed and Flat-Face yelled… Or tried to, anyway. It came out as a sort of loud, dry hiss that made the pasty man sound asthmatic. “How dare you?! I am your lord and master! Kneel before me!”

Well that was a disturbing image. He took it back. Urahara wasn’t the perv here, and Ichigo would _definitely_ appreciate some mental Bleach right about now.

Meanwhile, they boy still tied to the headstone had finally managed to spit out the piece of cloth gagging him. “You aren’t going to help him are you? He killed Cedric!”

There were titters from the assembled… Death Eaters. And dammit, now that his mind was stuck firmly in filthy and truly disturbing places, that name just made things ten times worse.

It was then that Ichigo finally noticed the cooling body just behind the headstone. The wayward spirit hovering nearby waved wryly at him. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t help the madman,” he called over, then looked down. “And what _is_ this thing?” he asked, poking at his chain of fate.

Ichigo ignored the question, instead glaring at Flat-Face. “You killed that kid?” he asked, conveniently failing to notice that they were, in fact, about the same age.

“You of all beings should appreciate my work!” Flat-Face said, nose… er, nostrils arrogantly in the air.

Ichigo waited a heartbeat for the man to lower his… nostrils (after all, that angle must be rather hard on the neck), and promptly kicked him in the face. He thought he might have felt bone crunch under his heel, but honestly couldn’t tell if he’d broken the man’s nose or not. Well, he’d have to figure out if Flat-Face actually had a nose first, he supposed.

There was stunned silence for a long moment before suddenly the crazy cultists were flinging colored lights everywhere. To Ichigo, it rather looked like that time Keigo had managed to drag him to an 80’s club, except with a decidedly drearier backdrop. He easily dodged the multi-hued beams with just a touch of added speed. Manipulating objects’ souls was _such_ a useful ability.

“Oh my god! He’s a walking killing curse!” one of the cultists cried out.

Ichigo glanced down at himself, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. What were these people so scared of? It’s not like he’d actually killed anybody.

He shrugged, the soul of the ground boosting his movement in a flash of green light. Someone screamed, and he thought he saw one or two of the cultists disappear. As in teleport. Eh, he’d seen weirder things.

Landing next to Flat-Face, Ichigo frowned. The man was standing again, spewing death threats at Ichigo… who he seemed to think was Death. Which spoke wonders about Flat-Face’s intelligence.

And then he started firing beams of light too, most of which ended in small explosions or gashes carving through the ground. And through the occasional Death Eater, which may or may not have been intentional. He couldn’t quite be sure.

Really, the fool summons him here, tries to order him around, and then tries to kill him. And had already killed somebody. Ichigo’s eyes narrowed in anger. That, and he’d promised to be at the damn fair with his sister, and this guy was making him break that promise.

Briefly forgetting he wasn’t holding Zangetsu, he pumped reiatsu into the… er, weapon in his hands, slamming hard plastic straight into Flat-Face’s bald head. Who promptly went crashing into the giant cauldron less than two feet behind him with a splash.

The crazy cultists took one look at the cloaked, scythe-wielding, sort-of-personification-of-an-abstract-concept that had knocked their master down for the second time and did quite possibly the only intelligent thing they’d ever done in their lives. They apparated the hell out of there.

Ichigo scoffed and went to the boy gaping at him from his spot at the headstone, cutting through the ropes with a casual swing of a scythe that really shouldn’t have been able to cut through anything. The boy stared. “…is that _plastic_?” he asked once he finally scraped his jaw off the ground.

Ichigo glanced at the weapon in his hands that was very much not his zanpakuto, absently swearing to never, ever let Ishida hear of this incident. “…yes.”

The boy inched toward the shiny cup a few feet from the dead body. “…right. Uh, thanks for the help,” he said, grabbing hold of said body and cup and disappearing with a mildly creeped out expression.

Ichigo turned to the empty spot the spirit had just occupied. Apparently he’d run off with his body. Right. Well then. How was he supposed to–

For the second time that day he was spatially displaced without so much as a by-your-leave.

–get home?

“Yo, Geta-Boshi.”

“Ah, Kurosaki-san! Glad to see that worked. We were a little concerned when we discovered you’d managed to get yourself summoned by the Dark Wizard that terrorized Britain a while back. Curious really, since he was recorded as dead… what on earth are you wearing?” 

“You mean Flat-Face and his Pervy Circle?” Ichigo asked, ignoring the blonde’s question. Like _Geta-Boshi_ of all people had any room to talk about _clothes_. His eye twitched. “Whatever. I’m heading back before Yuzu gets worried.” And to Bleach his mind of this particular incident.

Urahara just stared incredulously as the substitute shinigami left his shop, taking in the reiatsu flowing through the plastic scythe and cloak and wondering how – and _why the hell_ – Ichigo had suddenly had a Death costume as a Fullbring.


End file.
